


Glass and Patron

by vesper_house



Series: Before Dawn [1]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, Batman v Superman: Dawn of Justice, DCU (Movies), Superman - All Media Types
Genre: Bottom Clark, Daddy Kink, Dirty Talk, Inspired by trailers, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Spanking, Top Bruce, look ma it's porn!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-23
Updated: 2016-01-23
Packaged: 2018-05-15 17:41:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,651
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5793847
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vesper_house/pseuds/vesper_house
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They meet at a party and it goes something like this. // Please look at the tags and decide if my sin is the right kind of sin for you, m'kay?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Glass and Patron

**Author's Note:**

> All I've got from the trailers of BvS: DoJ is that Batman and Superman have some hardcore kinks.  
> So now all of you lovely readers are going to hell and I'm driving the bus.  
> Enjoy! 
> 
> Title taken from a song by [FKA Twigs](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QaZQonTwEzI)
> 
> This is unbeta'd, English isn't my first language, and grammar is just a concept created by species floating around in space on a rock.

 

November 1st

\---

“Don’t believe everything you hear, son.”

The term throws him off balance. Did he really just hear that?

“Excuse me?” Clark says with slight disbelief.    

Bruce Wayne just gives him a pointed look: part condescension, part challenge, one hundred per cent of unspoken _go on, entertain me_ hiding behind his sharp stare and a smirk that could easily transform into a snarl.

It is not the first time when Clark has to deal with someone who wants to make his job more difficult just for kicks, yet he still have not learned how to deal with that kind of behavior. If Wayne did not want to talk to a journalist, he could easily dismiss Clark with the legendary billionaire charm, but no: he chose teasing instead, and successfully pushed _all_ of Clark’s buttons at once in the process.

Perhaps, Clark thinks, his own annoyance came from the fact that Bruce Wayne is, indeed, a very handsome man, and that _he fucking knows it_. And maybe, just maybe, Clark was not entirely able to hide the fact that his knees got a little weak as he approached the most desired man in the room.

Now Clark struggles to think about how to turn this mess into something resembling a proper interview. A shrill voice breaks the silence between them:

“Boys!”

Somehow, Lex Luthor manages to make their encounter even more awkward. Wayne is not pleased with his presence to put it mildly.

Okay, so there is a chance Wayne is not annoyed with Clark after all. It seems that low-key hatred is his default position on people in general.

Clark ignores the fact that Lex is violating his personal space, listens for a few seconds to the rich men talking and then excuses himself as politely as possible, remembering to thank Wayne for the comment on his way out.

“My pleasure,” Bruce says and it sounds like a purr.

Clark refuses this reality.

He walks outside on the patio. After finding a secluded corner, he takes his phone out and briefly considers texting Lois, then decides against it. Her angry rant could wait until morning. If Lois was here, she would definitely manage to squeeze something juicy out of Wayne without being distracted by his patronizing behavior.

_Son._

Before he can think about it, Clark types “bruce wayne age” into search engine. Alright, Wayne is nearly ten years older than him, which would explain the subtle strands of gray hair. Admittedly, it is…

“Mister Kent!”

... _really fucking hot._

The surprise on his face must have been truly perfect for Clark Kent, the delicate flower of rural Kansas who feels a bit out of place in this new, luxurious environment. Bruce Wayne approaches him carefully, champagne in one hand, the weird smirk back on his face.

“Mister Wayne,” Clark responds, shoving his phone back into his pocket.

“Sorry about Lex there. He can be a little intrusive after a few drinks.”

“Sounds like you speak from experience.”

“I am, unfortunately.” Wayne moves closer. “Do you have enough material for your article, Clark?”

“I’m sure it’s more than enough for page eight,” Clark says while trying to figure out what the hell is going on. “Why do you ask, mister Wayne?”

“Call me Bruce,” the man gulps the rest of his drink. A very cute waitress snatches the empty glass almost immediately. “Thanks”, Bruce says, oblivious to the sleazy look she gives him. “I’ve realized I wasn’t very helpful. My publicist would be disappointed.”

“Mister Wayne...”

“It’s Bruce.”

“Bruce,” Clark says and feels a blush creeping up, _damn it_ , ”I am not going to portray you as a jerk if that’s your concern. The gossip column at the Planet is already taken.”

“Of course not,” Bruce agrees, voice colored with amusement, “You give off that specific boy scout vibe. Haven’t met a lot of people like that.”

Great. In a span of half an hour Bruce Wayne, the hottest bachelor in America, called him _son_ and _boy scout_ and it was getting so, so hard for Clark to pretend it has no impact whatsoever on his arousal.

“Thank you?” Clark says with a hint of bewilderment because, well, he kind of does not have any better idea how to handle this.

“What, your girlfriend doesn’t share my opinion?” Bruce asks out of the blue.

“Yeah, no. No. I mean...” he thinks about Lois and how their budding romance quickly turned into a brother-sister type of relationship, “I, uhm, I’m not seeing anyone right now.” Fucking hell, why is he even saying that?

“So you didn’t walk out here to send a goodnight text?”

“What? No,” _I needed to google your age because you called me son and that pissed me off and turned on a little at the same time, you know, because I’m trash,_ “just needed some fresh air.”

“Yeah, this party is dead already,” Bruce takes a look around. People are smoking nearby, so he keeps his voice low. “Do you wanna get out of here?”

Clark looks at the man standing in front of him. Blinks. Oh, this _cannot_ be happening.

“I do actually,” _before I do something really fucking stupid,_ “I’m going to find my colleague who drove us here and call it a night. He should have plenty of photos by now.” It was pretty blunt but still polite way of saying “not interested”, or so Clark hoped.

That earns him a huff of laughter in return. Bruce’s gaze is… playful.

“Am I amusing you?” Clark asks, irritated once again.

“Listen” suddenly Bruce is very close, his intense stare fixed on Clark. “I’m not sure if you’re really that innocent, bad at picking up signals, or pretending to be someone you’re not. I’m gonna go with my gut and assume the last part is true. I don’t know why you’re doing it and honestly, I’m not that eager to find out. However, I would like to get out of here, bring you to my hotel room, and make you come so hard you won’t be able to walk for days. What do you say?”

Clark stands still, not daring to breathe, because he is sure his heart just fucking stopped.

“I, uh, uhmm...” he stutters. It takes all of his willpower not to turn bright red. ”I... can’t be seen leaving the party... with you.” A deep breath and an attempt to ignore his hardening dick. “Your reputation precedes you, Bruce.”

“Oh, right,” Bruce says lightly. “Every young, aspiring journalist has to keep up appearances after all.” A moment later there is a keycard in Clark’s hand. “Royal Hotel, top floor, room 239. I’ll see you there.” And just like that, he starts to leave.

“Aren’t you a little too sure of yourself?” Clark blurts out.

Bruce turns his head to look at Clark. Grins and comes closer once again.

“Baby, I’m not in the mood to play cat and mouse,” the endearment goes straight to Clark’s groin. “If you don’t wanna come, then don’t. You can pretend all you want that you’re not gonna take the bait but let me tell you“ he leans and whispers right into Clark’s ear, voice as dirty as the original sin, “by the time this night ends, there will be cum all over these ridiculous glasses of yours.”

 

\---

 

Lo and behold, here he is. The man of steel. Doing something really fucking stupid.

At least he hesitated before giving in. Sort of. Jimmy dropped him off at his apartment. Clark even entertained the idea of ending this evening with simple activities: have a snack, jack off furiously in the shower, and maybe write a draft before going to sleep. Or maybe go on a patrol. He used super hearing in search of someone in trouble but Metropolis was unusually quiet. No distraction from Bruce Wayne and his deliciously filthy promises.

Clark Kent is only human after all, right?

Once the decision was made, Clark had to force himself to get a cab and not just fly right into Wayne’s hotel room. He reached the door of room 239 uninterrupted, feeling like a call girl the whole time, a little surprised by the absence of bodyguards.

Clark peaks inside with x-ray vision. Bruce is there, lounging peacefully on a divan. He is barefoot, jacket and tie gone, typing swiftly on a laptop. No alcohol, drugs, celebrities or hookers in sight.

 _Here goes nothing_ , Clark thinks and knocks. After a few agonizing minutes he starts to think Bruce must have changed his mind, but then the door finally opens.

“You know, I gave you the key specifically to avoid this part” is all the greeting he gets from Wayne.

“Well hello to you, too” Clark replies.” Didn’t feel right to just waltz in. You could’ve been with someone.”

“Did you want me to be with someone?”

“No,” Clark says and decides to be cheeky because why the hell not: “I don’t like to share.”

Bruce gives him a look of approval. “Come in,” he says, “I started to think you wouldn’t show up.”

The penthouse is everything he expected: sleek, modern, but with a dash of timeless chic. He notices that the bedroom door is wide open and feels a bit nervous all of a sudden, but _very_ turned on nonetheless.

“Drink?” Bruce asks.

“Bruce, if I wanted a drink, I’d go to a bar.”

Bruce’s eyebrows arched faintly. He moves a little closer. Clark feels the heavy weight of the man’s gaze piercing through him, but refuses to look down.

“Very well” Wayne whispers. “I will have to ask for your phone though.”

Clark does not understand at first… and then it clicks.

“I am not recording.”

“And I believe you,” Bruce raises his right hand. Waits.

Clark can sense there is no point in putting up a fight over something so silly and honestly, he cannot really blame Bruce for acting a bit paranoid. He puts his phone in Bruce’s open palm. The man does not turn it off – he simply removes the battery so quickly that Clark does not even have the time to protest. Disconnected parts end up in a desk drawer.

Then comes the slow, gentle caress of Bruce’s hand on his face. Clark closes his eyes and leans into it with a small shudder. He could not remember the last time he was so aroused, was not even sure if he really knew what arousal meant until this moment. Bruce’s thumb presses on his lower lip, forcing him to open his mouth. Clark obeys, but does not suck on it as probably was expected of him. Instead he softly clenches his teeth, looking directly into Bruce’s dark eyes. The billionaire lets out a small hum.

“Just so we’re clear, we can stop anytime.” Bruce says calmly, deliberately smearing Clark’s saliva all over his lips. ”No questions asked. No guilt tripping. Do you have a safe word?”

“Yes daddy, I do.”

Clark is taking a risk and he knows it. That particular kink could backfire quite spectacularly. Bruce may laugh in his face and call it quits before they even started, the mood completely ruined. He may not be into it. He may get angry at the implication that he is _old_.

And yet Clark instantly knows that the risk paid off. He sees the minor change on the other man’s face. Bruce does not say anything, just looks at him hungrily, focused to the point it becomes somewhat intimidating.

_Oh you dirty, spoiled, condescending piece of…_

“Tell me,” this time Bruce nearly growls.

“Red light.” It is unimaginative, but Clark prefers to keep things simple. Especially in situations which are… unusual, to say the least.

“Alright,” Bruce approves.

His thumb moves from the corner of Clark’s mouth to his chin, then slowly makes it way downwards.

"Anything else I should know?” Bruce asks almost matter-of-factly while unbuttoning Clark’s shirt.

“You can be rough if you like,” Clark manages to say, voice hoarse, thinking  _I need this_. “I don’t mind,” he says instead and licks his lips unconsciously.

“Good.”

Bruce makes a step forward. There is no space left between them and for the first time Clark is truly affected by their height difference. Being a tall man himself, it does not happen very often when he has to look up to meet someone’s gaze. Bruce’s broad shoulders cage him against a wall, leaving almost no room for escape.

Clark’s fight or flight instinct kicks in. He takes a deep breath to calm himself down and tentatively puts his hands on Bruce’s body. The feel of solid muscles underneath expensive clothes grounds him in the moment.

“Perhaps there is something that I should know?” Clark could hear his voice dipping low, a little dizzy from the intoxicating smell of Wayne’s surprisingly sweet perfume.

“Yes.” Bruce moves his lips to Clark’s ear. “ _Daddy_ is gonna take very good care of you.”

And just like that, Clark is gone. He reaches for Bruce’s mouth with a tiny sob. The kiss is not as greedy as he imagined, but rather exploring, patient. His jacket lands on the floor almost without a sound.

Bruce’s hands slide down to palm his ass appreciably. Then he grips it hard, clashing their groins, so now they can both feel how much the other party is enjoying this. Clark nips at Bruce’s neck, loving the dry taste of warm skin, and reaches for the buttons of his shirt.

“Nuh-uh,” Bruce mumbles and immediately catches Clark’s wrists, then pins them to the wall. Clark can tell that if it was not for his inhuman pain tolerance level, the hold would feel brutal. He goes pliant under Bruce’s power. It does not entirely come from physical strength: it is a sum of confidence and natural supremacy that really gets under Clark’s skin, even if he won’t ever admit it. Their mouths meet again with a soft clank of teeth. Clark hums from pleasure, feeling content for the first time in ages. He nearly forgot just how much he likes to make out.

Suddenly Bruce breaks the kiss, grasps Clark’s lower thighs and pulls him up effortlessly. A gasp escapes from Clark’s mouth as he wraps his legs around Bruce for balance and _oh god_ , he feels lightheaded with lust.   

Bruce wastes no time and manhandles him to the bedroom. Clark grabs the other man’s shoulders and thinks he could make himself lighter but decides not to. Instead he tries to imagine how it feels like to be really fragile in the arms of a very strong man.

“You are full of surprises,” Clark murmurs.

“You haven’t seen anything yet.”

Bruce drops him on the bed without any preamble.

“Strip” he commands. “Keep the glasses on.”

Clark obeys. As he discards his clothing, Bruce turns the bedside lights on. He settles on an armchair nearby, eyes fixated on the shaking, flushed mess that Clark has become _. Fuck, get a hold of yourself,_ flies through Clark’s head _._ In front of him, one of the most powerful men in the world rolls the sleeves of his shirt without a rush. Clark can feel all of his blood flowing down south.

“You don’t look like most of the journalists I’ve met,” Bruce says while removing his watch, an obscenely pricey Patek Philippe.

“Makes me think of how many of them have you seen naked,” Clark retorts and starts to slip down his boxer briefs.

“Wait.”

Clark stops his movements. Wayne takes a hold of his wrists once again, then places them right above Clark’s head. There is a purposeful squeeze and Clark immediately understands what it means. A small whine escapes from his lips.

“I want to touch you…”

“Not now. Be a good boy,” Bruce says and kisses him passionately.

Clark cannot possibly argue with that, can he?

He obediently keeps his hands in place while Bruce explores his body. Eyes closed and muscles strained, Clark realizes that he is panting. The fact that Bruce started to mouth his cock and balls through the fabric of the underwear, teasing him mercilessly with hot breath, certainly has something to do with it. Finally the last piece of clothing lands on the floor, stained with Clark’s precum.

Bruce stands up, palming at his own crotch and clearly enjoying the view. Clark can see the indecent outline of the other man’s erection. His mouth is watering.

“Turn around,” Bruce says, voice like honey on gravel.

Clark does what he is told, because he is a _good boy_.

“On all fours, baby.”

Clark’s breath hitches in his throat. He has never done this before. The thought of exposing himself in such way suddenly makes him a little uneasy.

“Hey,” Bruce is back on him again, gently stroking his sides. “Don’t be shy,” he murmurs and showers Clark’s back and neck with small kisses. “Daddy will make you feel really good, okay? Promise.”

Clark nods, too far gone to really object anything at this point. He positions himself on his knees and elbows, still a little embarrassed but so turned on that he seriously starts to wonder if he could die from it.

“That’s a good boy.”

Bruce places a wet kiss on the small of his back and Clark lets out a whimper. His neglected member throbs painfully.

Bruce cups his ass with both hands. Clark positively melts into the touch, his higher brain functions shut down, so the sharp slap that comes next is something he did not foresee. His yelp brings another slap, and another, and another...

“You like that?”

“Harder,” Clark croaks in response.

“My dirty little boy wants to be punished” Bruce says almost playfully and smacks Clark once more. “Is that right, baby?”

“Yes daddy.”

After a second he feels a pat, but it is not Bruce’s palm anymore. It takes him a moment to realize that what touches his skin is in fact a fine leather belt.

“Tell me what you want,” Bruce says, voice ragged.

“Spank me” Clark whispers.

“Ask nicely.”

“Please, please daddy, spank me hard,” Clark begs as he reaches for his erection, ready to come harder than ever before.

Bruce uses the belt to snap his hand away.

“No touching.”

Clark growls in protest but listens nonetheless.

The first hit is not a tease. It is hard enough to make Clark grip the sheets.

Bruce is… skilled with the belt. He takes his time, changes the rhythm and intensity, clearly getting off on this as much as Clark does.

Clark meets every smack with a huffed moan. His ass must be redder than his face now, skin burning as lashes become more and more cruel. He briefly wonders if a normal human being would start to bleed at this point. Probably yes, considering Bruce’s nearly primal ferocity.  

Smacking stops as unexpectedly as it started. Clark glances around just in time to see Bruce unzipping his own pants, his cock springing free and _holy shit_ , he could be a porn star if he wanted to. Thing is, Clark is not used to bottoming. While it cannot cause him any real damage, he is not sure if it is going to feel good or just plain uncomfortable instead.

But then Bruce lowers his head and licks a long wet stripe over Clark’s hole.

“Fuck!” he screams, head dropping on the bed.

“That’s the plan,” how the _hell_ is it possible for Bruce to be a smartass in this situation is a complete mystery to Clark.

Bruce fishes out a condom and a small tube from the bedside drawer. Clark trembles with anticipation as he hears the snap of a cap of lube, then feels a slick finger circling his entrance. He does not have much time to adjust before Bruce slides two fingers into him. Clark whines loudly. He wants nothing more than to grab his own dripping length and bring himself to completion with a couple of rushed tugs. A third finger follows and he is about to lose his fucking mind.

“Such a good boy,” Bruce’s voice is deliciously husky, which makes Clark spread his thighs wider. He buries his face in the cover and tugs at his own hair with both hands in frustration. _I must look like a whore, head down, ass in the air_ , he thinks and it gives him gooseflesh.

“Please, daddy,” Clark moans.

“Please what?” Bruce breaks the condom wrapper with his teeth.

“Fuck me, please fuck me, just do it…” he does not even think about what he is saying anymore, he just wants to get off so badly it hurts.

“Oh sweetheart,” Bruce makes a broken sound, withdraws his fingers and starts to sink in abruptly, forcing his cockhead in.

Clark gasps. Despite the preparation, his body clenches involuntarily at the intrusion.

“Easy baby, try to push me out,” Bruce says hoarsely, “yeah, just like that…” He sinks in to the root, holding Clark’s hips possessively and trying to get deeper with subtle, shallow thrusts. Clark feels full and… weird. Good weird, he decides after a while. Their bodies rock in unison, both already a little out of breath.

Once settled, Bruce slides out and pushes back in _hard_ , nails scraping at Clark’s skin. The air leaves Clark’s lungs altogether. Bruce sets a slow pace, letting Clark get used to his length.

“That’s it,” Bruce encourages him and speeds up a little. “You’re so fucking tight…” Soon the power of his strokes almost makes Clark cry. Nothing has ever felt so good as the drag of Bruce Wayne’s cock inside of him. Unexpectedly, a feeling of profound _gratefulness_ washes over Clark in heat waves.

“Thank you daddy, thank you, thank you, thank you…” Clark whines with every thrust, blood pounding in his head.

Now Bruce is fucking his hole relentlessly. The obscene sounds are without a doubt audible to the neighbors but none of them cares, both beyond point of control. Finally, _finally_ Bruce takes pity on Clark and starts to stroke his leaking cock. With head dropped really low Clark watches, upside down, the work of this beautiful man’s hand, the way their bodies smash with a clapping noise, utterly mesmerized with the view.  He is well on the way to his awaited orgasm.

“Daddy, I…” he mutters weakly. There is a wet spot on the cover from his spit.

Bruce groans and holds him up a bit higher, changing the angle ever so slightly and _oh_ –

Clark rips the sheets, his whole body jolts and he cannot help it, it is unstoppable now, his vision gets blurry and he is suddenly weightless, floating, just like when he touches the sky–

“Come on my cock!”

Clark comes with a shout that feels punched right out from his chest, he sees stars and the sensations goes on and on _and on_ until he believes this must be eternity. He is a white blank page, nameless, discarnate, connected to nothing. Bruce fucks him through it with languid movements, still painfully hard, and when Clark recovers his senses, for a very brief moment he truly admires his lover’s restraint. Bruce pulls out and gets rid of the condom.

“Remember what I promised you at the party, baby?” Bruce growls. Clark looks at him in confusion because _what party? I don’t even remember how I got here._ His expression must be priceless since it makes Bruce chuckle.

“Come here” he calls Clark with his hand, the other one clamped on his pulsating cock. _That was inside of me_ , Clark thinks and shifts on the bed.

“Yeah, and you took it like a big boy,” Bruce smirks like the cat who ate the canary.

So Clark said it out loud. _No fucks given._

Bruce gently pets Clark’s face and brings his cock to the other man’s lips. Clark takes the head into his mouth, feeling the taste of precum on his tongue. Fortunately Bruce does not expect a blowjob; Clark is pretty sure his performance at the moment would be barely passable.

“You did so well” Bruce looks like he could devour Clark. “Daddy’s good boy.” He strokes himself rapidly, the other hand now tangled in Clark’s hair.

Clark licks lazily at the crown of Bruce’s length and hums with satisfaction. That sets Bruce over the edge and he comes in long, hot spurts on Clark’s glasses, cheeks and lips with a low, animalistic grumble. It sends shivers down Clark’s spine.

Clark has never felt so debauched in his entire life. He raises his cum stained glasses to have a look at Bruce and smiles like an idiot, because this whole thing was just…

“Wow,” he breathes out and laughs, full of giddy energy.

Bruce lets out a small laugh as well, pushing his softening cock one last time into Clark’s welcoming mouth. Then he flops face first on the bed. His dress shirt is soaked with sweat.

Meanwhile Clark realizes that his chest barely glistens and that it is _not how normal humans react_.

“I’m gonna hit the shower” he says quickly.

“Mhmm,” Bruce agrees.

The bathroom is like an inside of a jewel case. Clark soaps himself with something that smells so divine it cannot possibly be just a common shower gel. He feels like he is sedated, satisfied to the marrow of his indestructible bones. The silly grin won’t leave his face no matter how hard he tries to make it go away, because he was fucked by a billionaire with a questionable reputation in a luxurious hotel in the kinkiest way he could imagine… Well, okay, one of the kinkiest.

 _“Toto, I have a feeling we’re not in Kansas anymore”_ goes through his head and he just _laughs._

“What’s so funny?” Bruce’s voice resonates in the bathroom. Clark looks at him through the glass of the shower cubicle: Wayne is wearing a long black robe and a pair of matching slippers. Apparently, he also made himself a cup of tea.

“A scene from The Wizard of Oz just randomly popped in my head,” Clark says. There it is, the fucking grin again. Bruce must think he is a moron.

“You know, I’ve never actually seen that one,” Bruce says and drops on the sofa.

 _Of course_ _there is a sofa in here_ , Clark thinks. Rich people are simply ridiculous.

“Not a fan of old movies?”

“Not a fan of movies in general,” Bruce says and takes a sip of tea, eyes scanning Clark’s body. “I work too much to really enjoy them.”

“All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy,” Clark says sternly.

“I understood that reference, thank you very much.” Bruce makes himself more comfortable on the sofa. “And the harder I work, the harder I get to play.”

The smirk that shows on his face is downright filthy. Clark suddenly feels _really_ naked.

“Then why don’t you join me?” He asks, kind of hoping for round two. Or at least a nice, wet make out session. No matter how mind-blowing the sex was, he still feels robbed from the opportunity to touch Bruce Wayne’s body.

“I like the view from here,” Bruce replies.

Clark smiles, a little bashful this time.

 “Stop staring, you dirty old man.”

“Oh, so now I’m a dirty old man and not your daddy anymore?”

“Daddy would help me wash my back.”

Bruce chuckles heartily. 

“That kind of talk will get you in trouble, son.”

Clark hums, then turns the tap off. He dries himself with a towel soft as a cloud and puts his glasses back on. Of course now they are squeaky clean again – Clark took care of them the minute he entered the bathroom.

“My flight is in less than three hours,” Bruce says. “Care to stay for some tea?”

“I was expecting a twenty year old scotch, but tea sounds great.”

Bruce’s shit eating grin makes Clark’s skin tingle.

“I have lots of great ideas.”

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> [Part 2](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5971429)


End file.
